Life Is But A Dream
by Aphrodite Roslin
Summary: It was just a dream. It was only a dream. It was just a dream. At least that was what he kept telling himself. HouseWilson friendship or preslash depending on how you look at it.


"It's definitely autoimmune," Cameron said with a confident air. "All we need to do is narrow it down."

"I agree. Let's start narrowing. Suggestions?" House raised an eyebrow.

"Lupus, Crohns, or Addison's," Chase suggested. House wrote as the Australian spoke.

"I like it. Anyone else have any bright ideas, or are we leaving this all up to the foreigner?" House turned back around to watch their reactions, but once he was facing them, he found himself no longer interested.

Something was wrong. He felt…funny – dizzy. The whole room was blurry now – spinning on some invisible axis. The ducklings were talking, but he couldn't hear them. Their words melted together in a distortion that reminded House of a Walkman when the batteries were low. What was happening? The room kept spinning faster, and House was getting dizzier. The kids were watching him now. Cameron was in his face asking him some unheard question. House tried to push her away, but too much movement would cause him to fall. He _really _did not want to fall.

The room was spinning faster still. All his beloved possessions swirled around him like some sick carnival ride, but House was standing still. The ducklings looked frantic. Cameron and Chase were yelling now – screaming in his ear. House wished they'd go away. A headache was the last thing he needed. What he needed was to get out of this room. He needed to get away from the spinning. He was tired and dizzy and his head was starting to pound. He could hear his own pulse throbbing in his ears. This wasn't right. This couldn't be real. STOP SPINNING!

As quickly as it had begun, the spinning stopped. Everything was different now. The ducklings were still standing around him, but he was no longer the focus of their attention. All three of their heads were now turned toward the corridor. Each had a look of panic etched into their faces, but something new was wrong now. Nothing was moving anymore. Each of his fellows were frozen in place. Cameron's hair was even sticking straight out behind her as if she had turned very quickly. They looked like the waxed figures in that museum he and Wilson had gone to three summers ago. How odd.

Risking a glance out into the corridor, House found the rest of the world was no different than the supernatural scene in his office. Three nurses, a patient, and Cuddy had been standing outside. Each of them was now frozen in place, their faces turned in frightened alarm toward the same end of the hallway. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. What was at the end of that hallway? Why was everyone so afraid? Against his better judgement, House slipped around the frozen bodies of his employees and eased his office door open. Slowly venturing out into the corridor, he made his way over to Cuddy's frozen form. House waved his hand awkwardly in front of her face, but she made no indication that she saw him. The woman didn't even blink.

Out of the corner of his eye, House noticed something shine. Glancing over Cuddy's left shoulder, he noticed something floating there – hanging in mid-air. That shouldn't be there. That was impossible. Of course, how much of what was happening really was possible? His curiosity getting the better of him, House allowed himself to slowly make his way over to it. As he approached, a growing sense of anxiety began creeping into his veins. He knew what this was. He was all too familiar with things like this. The object was only inches away from his face when he stopped, breathing so heavily that he thought his breath alone might knock the object down. It was a bullet, gleaming sharp and innocent in the fluorescent hospital lighting. His palms sweating, House stretched out one finger from his left hand to touch the eye-offending piece of metal.

The instant his finger came in contact with the bullet, a deafening crash echoed throughout the building. House jumped in surprise at the sound. Suddenly he knew what was happening. He knew where everyone was looking. He knew whom he was too late to save. Turning as fast as his bad leg would let him, House ran. At least he tried to run. He cursed his injured leg as he sped around the corner. He needed to go faster. He was too late. He was too late!

"What the –" House began as he burst into his best friend's office. The first thing his senses registered was the smell of blood. It was overwhelming. It was terrifying. It was Wilson's. "What the hell are you doing?" He screamed at the crazed woman standing behind Wilson's desk, holding the oncologist up by the neck – a seeping crimson hole marring the once flawless flesh of his stomach.

"Do you love him?" the crazed woman yelled, pressing her gun firmly into Wilson's neck.

"What?" House questioned, unable to register what was happening.

"Do you love him?" she screamed even louder, shaking the wounded man in her arms. Wilson cried out, the movement evoking a whole new world of pain.

"Look, I don't know what you want, but what ever it is, I'll take care of it. Just let him go," House ignored her questions. She was obviously mentally disturbed.

"Do you love him enough to die for him?" she asked almost calmly, locking her gaze with House's. For a moment House had no answer. What did she want him to say? He'd waited too long, though, and the click of the gun being readied to fire echoed like the shot itself. House couldn't move. He couldn't think. Wilson's eyes were pleading with him to do something – anything. But House couldn't make himself speak. He was a coward. He couldn't save his only friend.

"Then tell him goodbye," she leered. The last thing he heard was Wilson's terrified scream before the trigger was pulled, and House's world went dark.

House let out a shout as he awoke, the magazine he'd been reading before drifting off flying off his chest and landing, open, on the floor. What the hell was that all about? He hadn't had a nightmare like that in…well, he'd never had a nightmare like that. Glancing outside the glass walls, he saw his team laughing and talking like any other day. There was no spinning room or panic-stricken faces frozen in time. Turning to look outside, House found the balcony to be empty. Frowning, he stood, slid open the door and stepped out. Moving to where he could see inside his friend's office, House sighed in relief as he saw the younger man sitting behind his desk, listening intently to some old bald guy spouting off what, by the look in Wilson's eyes, was some incredibly boring information.

Wilson glanced up suddenly and smiled. He must have caught a glimpse of House out of the corner of his eye. Each time Baldy would look down at the papers in his hands, Wilson would glance at House and make a different annoyed face. House laughed out loud each time. _It was just a dream. It was only a dream. It was just a dream._ At least that was what he kept telling himself. Dreams can't hurt you, right? And Wilson was okay. There was the proof sitting not thirty feet away from him. But if that were true, then why was he still so unnerved? House didn't believe in ESP or premonitions. That was ridiculous. The whole dream had been ridiculous. What was he even doing out here? He needed a distraction. Fast. He wondered if Cuddy had anything interesting for him. Maybe he would go and see. He just didn't want to stay here.

As the week went on, House became increasingly exhausted. He'd been unable to sleep since that first nightmare in his office. Every night, the dream would come again. Each time it was more vivid than the previous. He couldn't figure it out. Why was this happening to him? He had no idea, and, right now, he didn't have the time to care either. His current patient was growing steadily worse, and they were no closer to figuring it out than they were a week ago.

"It's definitely autoimmune," Cameron said with a confident air. "All we need to do is narrow it down."

"I agree. Let's start narrowing. Suggestions?" House raised an eyebrow.

"Lupus, Crohns, or Addison's," Chase suggested. House wrote as the Australian spoke.

"I like it. Anyone else have any bright ideas, or are we leaving this all up to the…foreigner?" House froze. Holy shit. This was his dream. This was his nightmare. This was how it began every time.

"I think Wegner's is definitely in the running," Foreman suggested. House said nothing. He didn't move a muscle. He was too busy trying to decide what to do. If he ran down the hallway and barged into Wilson's office for nothing, how could he possibly explain it? But if he stayed here and did nothing, he could very well lose the only real friend he'd ever had.

"House?" Foreman's voice brought him out of his thoughts, yet he still found himself frozen in place. Inwardly, House wondered if this was what it was like to be frozen with fear.

"House?" it was Cameron's turn to speak. She was louder than her colleague, and sounding decidedly more concerned. Of course she was. When wasn't she?

"Keep going," House instructing as he came to a decision. He didn't bother to cap the marker as he threw it to Foreman and headed straight for the door.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Cameron yelled after him. House hesitated only to take a breath before responding.

"There's something I've gotta do." And with that he left, making a beeline for the Head of Oncology's office.

"Wilson, open up!" he all but shouted threw the door. Receiving no answer, he knocked louder and tried again. "Come on, Wilson, the game's about to start!" Still nothing. This was it. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned.

"House, no! Get out of here!" Wilson's voice suddenly screamed, the echoes of his plea silenced by the deafening sound of a single gunshot. Wasting no more time, House threw the door open, and his world turned upside down. He was dreaming again. He had to be. Because there, standing directly in front of him, was the exact set up for his nightmare's final scene.

"What the hell are you doing?" He screamed at the crazed woman standing behind Wilson's desk, holding the oncologist up by the neck – a seeping crimson hole marring the once flawless flesh of his stomach.

_Do you love him?_

"He killed my son! He killed my son!" the woman cried, her gun hand shaking dangerously as she sobbed. House was wrong. This was no dream. This had never happened. The woman had never answered his question but asked him one of her own. A question that House was never able to answer.

_Do you love him?_

"Look, I don't know what you think he did, but I can assure you that Dr. Wilson would never hurt another human being on purpose. No one here has killed anyone. What do you say we keep it that way?" House spoke slowly, not wanting to agitate the mentally disturbed woman anymore that necessary.

_Do you love him enough…_

"No! No! My son his dead! This son of a bitch killed my little boy!" she screamed even louder, shaking the wounded man in her arms. Wilson cried out, the movement evoking a whole new world of pain. "Then he had the balls to say he was sorry! He's sorry that he killed my baby, but my baby's still dead! If he's so sorry, let him tell my boy himself!" With a resounding click, the woman pulled back the gun's hammer and pressed the barrel even harder into the oncologist's neck.

_Do you love him enough to die for him?_

"Wait!" House suddenly shouted, the fear starting to leave his body as he suddenly realized what all of this had been about. He knew what he had to do – what he was meant to do. "If you kill him, he gets away with it. On the other hand, if you kill me, he'll have to deal with two deaths on his conscience for the rest of his pathetic, miserable life." The words stung even as he spoke them, but they were necessary. Wilson would feel guilty, but he would live. And that was all that mattered.

"Come on. I'm all he's got in this world. I'm the only one left," it was a small but necessary lie. "He loves me, and I love him every bit as much as you love your son. Which do you think would hurt him more – his own death or mine?"

The disgruntled woman seemed to contemplate this for a moment. House could feel hope welling in his stomach. Maybe he could change the ending after all.

"You love him enough to die for him?" she finally questioned, much more softly than House had ever heard before. This time, he didn't hesitate to answer.

"Yes, I do."

"Then tell him goodbye," she leered, this time turning the gun on House. The last thing he heard was Wilson's terrified scream before the trigger was pulled, and House's world went dark.

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So...? Good? Bad? Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think! Reviews are like candy to my muse!


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